


Back to Normal

by AmnesiaticRoses



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Gen, Psychological Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmnesiaticRoses/pseuds/AmnesiaticRoses
Summary: Ivan is used to seeing troll videos pop up on the Hero TV forums, so he doesn't think anything of letting Sky High know about a new one that's circulating. But seeing that video makes more trouble for Sky High than he expected.As requested by the lovely Devon! Takes place near the start of the series.





	1. Press Play

Ivan frowned, mouse hovering over the play button, and asked himself for perhaps the two hundredth time if he wanted to do this.

These sorts of videos popped up from time to time on the Hero TV "rumors" forum. "Secret footage shows Blue Rose actually a man!!" Or "the fiev children rock bison refuses to admitt are his." Things like that. Most of the time it was nonsense posted by trolls trying to stir up trouble. 

Some heroes attracted more of that sort of attention than others. Fire Emblem seemed the biggest target, and to be fair most of those videos *were* of Nathan just being Nathan. Some people just didn't bother to understand him. Thankfully, most of the folks on the forums tended to ignore those troll posts until the could get cleared out. Then there were the regular dueling threads of video showing Wild Tiger destroying property vs. those of him going above and beyond to help civilians and the purported (and quickly deleted) Blue Rose nude videos. Those got deleted immediately.

But one of those who showed up the least in posts of that sort was the King of Heroes himself. Which was why this one - "Young Sky High attacks photographer??!?" - had Ivan debating the merits of blissful ignorance.

In the end, it was the comments that decided it for him - level-headed forum regulars wondering if this might actually be legitimate. So, cursing the nature of the internet, he clicked play.

The video started in a blur of black and orange, which quickly resolved into a five-story building, almost fully engulfed in flames. People were screaming, and in the background Ivan heard sirens approaching. He leaned his elbows on the desk and squinted at the screen. Where was-

As though answering the thought, one of the windows on the fourth floor shattered in a crackle of broken glass and a wad of dark cloth shot out almost vertically from inside. A tongue of flame licked after the figure, missing by inches.

The camera shakily turned, losing the form briefly against the night sky and finding it again seconds before it reached the pavement. A few feet off the ground, the freefall abruptly slowed. Almost at the same instant, an unseen wall swept along the road, rocking parked cars and knocking people backward. The camera shivered and bits of debris pattered off the lens. 

The wall of wind (Ivan assumed - it made sense if this was supposed to be Sky High) slowed the fall but didn't stop it. The form hit the ground hard, rolling several times and coming to a stop near a fire truck. Ivan winced in sympathy. He'd had a few rough landings himself. 

The cameraperson was running, the video rocking wildly with their gait. As they approached, the bundle of cloth unfolded to reveal a young man in jeans and a black tee-shirt with a woman in a nightgown clutched in his arms. He extricated himself from the blanket that had shrouded them both and laid her on her back. She looked terribly still, covered in soot, eyes closed, clothing half charred and gaping. Was she even breathing?

The young man looked frantically around, seeming at a loss for what to do next. As a crowd gathered, staring at him, trying to process what they'd seen, he said, "Is there an ambulance? I think she breathed too much smoke-"

The cameraman shoved to the front of the crowd, lens swinging up to focus on the blonde young man - in his late teens, which seemed oddly incongruous in Ivan's head with the Sky High he knew. If it _was_ Keith, of course. (And Ivan could see where people were getting it now. The look of near-panic on his face didn't match Ivan's view of the man. His hair was longer, a little unkempt and singed at the ends, and he was built more like Barnaby. But... maybe. It could be him).

Ivan frowned as the camera swiveled again and focused on the disheveled woman. The footage zoomed in and her face filled the screen. Blood trickled from a gash on her forehead, and she did seem to be breathing, but with difficulty. The camera lingered there a second, then started to pan down. It took a moment to realize - or maybe just accept - what the cameraman had in mind. _She just got rescued from a fire! Surely no one would-_

And then the field was full of an angry face, startling Ivan back. Maybe-Keith's bright blue eyes glared past the video, giving the impression he was looking at something behind Ivan. "What do you think you're doing?" The young man asked. The microphone caught it clearly this time, the voice familiar but foreign to Ivan. If he tried, he thought he could hear the echoes of Sky High's grand confidence, but this was laced with uncharacteristic, unrestrained anger and something else.

 _Fear_ , Ivan thought. He knew _that_ note in a voice all too well. But again, not in Sky High's. Still, it was the anger that stuck with him. _Have I?_ He tried to remember. _Have I ever seen Sky High angry?_

"Hey," the cameraman said, voice distant, as Maybe-Keith stooped forward and the camera view shifted, shook a little. "Hey! Put me down!"

"Get away from here and leave her alone" 

"Just because you're a next," the cameraman, presumably, was saying as the view shifted, shook, then righted again, showing the woman from a different angle. Ivan could see a paramedic approaching over Maybe-Keith's shoulder as the camera struggled between focusing near and far. "You feel like you can-"

The camera started to zoom in again, but everything went blurry, spinning wildly. When the footage finally focused again, Ivan could just make out the small form of the woman, of maybe-Keith, of the whole tableau in the bottom right corner. People had grabbed onto the young man's arms, holding him back, and the paramedic was kneeling by the woman. Much larger, in the foreground, an unmoving hand filled most of the left side of the frame. That shot held for a few moments before the video ended.

Ivan stared at the page another long few seconds, then bookmarked it and packed up his laptop. 

Perusing the rest of the boards could wait.


	2. My Understanding of the Truth

Keith could often be found in the gym going about his routines as though they were effortless, a fact that sometimes made Ivan a bit self-conscious about his own workouts. Blue Rose had admitted to the same herself once, when they were the only ones left after Keith made his always-cheery exit. But today he was glad of the predictable routine. In a break between machines, Sky High came over to say hi, and Ivan took the opportunity to pull up the video on his laptop.

"I don't know what it is exactly, and I mean, it's probably fake, but if it's out there the press might start asking about it," Ivan explained, realizing he was talking a little too fast but unable to stop. "So I figured you might want to know about it before that happened. Your sponsors might want to know too."

"I appreciate you taking the time," Keith said genially, watching over Ivan's shoulder. "Let's see this video."

He hit play and it all happened again - the bursting window, the fall, the leering camera, the shove that had to have sent the cameraman twenty yards, maybe more. This time he concentrated on the voice, and he could hear it this time - whoever that was, they were doing a really good impression.

As the video went black this time, Ivan turned and started, "Like I said, I think it's a-" before trailing off, uncertain.

Keith still stared at the screen, frowning, even though the video was done. His brows knit toward the center and he seemed lost in thought.

"Uh..."

"I... might remember a fire," Keith said, voice intense and hesitant. "But I may have just seen it on the news. That looked like my old neighborhood. But I don't know the woman at all. Or this... what happened here." His tone gained a little more confidence as he added, "That wasn't me. I'm sorry you had to waste your time with it."

Something Ivan hadn't realized was knotted up inside him loosened a little. _Of course_ it wasn't him. Sky High didn't do things like assault a civilian, even a creep like that. He smiled and said, "Yeah. I thought it might be, you know, made up."

"Thank you again for showing me," Keith said, and his sunny smile dragged a grin out of Ivan as well. It was impossible NOT to. He turned back to shut his computer.

When he finished packing it away, Keith had already left. Without saying goodbye. Ivan's unease resurfaced again, uncertain.

As he was standing there, Dragon Kid walked over, a towel hanging like a shawl over her shoulders and wisps of hair frizzing up, a sure sign she'd been at her own workout for a while already. "Hey," she said. He smiled in greeting as she took a drink from her water bottle, then said, "What's up? You look worried."

"Do I?"

She just gave him a flat look that said _I just asked you, didn't I? Why would I ask you that if everything looked normal?_

He considered telling her, but really, if Keith said it wasn't him, then talking about it was just going to make it harder to let the thing die. So he shook his head.

"Nah. I was just thinking about something stupid."

She clearly didn't believe him but, blessedly, at least she let it go.


	3. Nothing Ever Doesn't Change...

Patrol went on that night as normal. The city lay brightly lit and unnaturally quiet under the rush of air past Sky High's helmet. Sternbild made an effort to look as spectacular in the night as during the day, trading in the awe-inspiring architecture and classical art on a soaring scale for brilliant colors and intricate paintings of shadow and light.

Right now, a particularly opulent part of the Gold Stage spooled out underneath him, etched in red and yellow. He could see the headquarters of Poseidon Line up ahead, and out of habit, gave the building a salute as he passed by. At this time  of night -- nearly 9 p.m. --  most of the building would be empty, but it never hurt to be polite, especially to the bosses.

But the move was on autopilot. His mind remained on that video Origami Cyclone had shown him. The fire. The photographer's still hand, larger than life in the foreground of the camera.

The woman's face. That was what kept sticking out to him. She seemed familiar. And the young man - the guy in the video? That had definitely been familiar. They could have pulled it from his old photos of that time just after high school, when he was still trying to decide if college was the right place for him, or if he was going to try to make a go of something with his new NEXT powers.

He closed his eyes and removed his helmet, letting the cold air batter his face. The wind hurt a bit, but it also felt soothing - there was something clarifying about being in the sky, outrunning the wind. This wasn't the first time he'd tried to let the air scour away a bad day.

This time, it wasn't working.

As he reran the video in his mind for the umpteenth time, he could feel something deep in him flare up. An uncomfortable feeling. Foreign. Denying. It couldn't have been him. Grabbing an evildoer like that, throwing them, it wouldn't do anything to help fix them, it was only going to cause more anger and violence in them. He wouldn't...

He wouldn't...

He...

Pain spiked through his head, starting just in front of his temple and lancing back. His eyes clamped closed of their own accord and the heels of his hands went to his temples, the right one nearly dropping his helmet.

In the dark behind his closed eyes, he saw a scene of the video again, but instead of the camera view, his mind imagined what it must have looked like as the woman was being rescued - billowing smoke making a gray-black wall in every direction, sometimes shot through with orange and yellow as flames licked close, _too_ close, _far_ too close. He could see the top edge of a bundle of cloth in his arms. The woman. She weighed him down, leaving his shoulders and biceps aching, smoke searing furrows in his throat, but he couldn't put her down, they couldn't stop until they found a window, or they were dead-

He opened his eyes to see the side of a building looming, large as a mountain. He let out a rather unheroic yelp and blasted his powers at the side of the building, cracking a window with the force. This at least slowed him enough that he only slammed into the building with one shoulder instead of full-on crashing. It was still enough to momentarily stun him, pain radiating out from the impact point as he dropped at an alarming rate.

_Come on, level out!_

Squinting against the air streaming past his face, he oriented himself and engaged his powers and the jet pack, slowing himself and finally coming to an unsteady, hovering stop some thirty feet above the road. As soon as he had his equilibrium once more, he shoved his helmet back on. There was a certain safety to the edges, to the readout. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

_What is_ wrong _with me today?_

Down below, he heard a shout, and looked to see a pair of young women, maybe 20, pointing and waving. As he gave them a little salute and prepared to continue on his route, one of them raised her cell phone. Taking a picture? Video?

He felt the echo of that lancing pain from earlier. Hurriedly, he regained a bit more altitude and tried to get back on his route. Almost done. Almost done, and then he'd go home, take John for a quick walk, then get a good night's sleep and tomorrow would be better.

His communicator cracked, then a voice came hesitantly over the waves. "Sky High?"

"Yes?" he said, wincing a little at how curt he sounded, then added, "I'm sorry, what is it?"

"Are you just about finished for tonight?"

Someone on his team always had a line to him, in case something came up, but it almost never actually got used. the woman on duty tonight sounded tentative, as though unsure if she were doing the right thing. He smiled as he dodged around a building, gaze sweeping the streets below. "I am," he said in a voice that he recognized more as his own. "Is there something I can help with?"

"We, uh, just got a request from Mr. Maverick. He had something to ask you about, and wanted to know if you could swing by his office. He'll be there until 10, he said." She sounded a little more sure of herself this time.

Mr. Maverick? It was late, but working with sponsors over the years had taught him that businessmen could keep even odder hours than heroes. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"Just to ... talk about something for the current season," she said, the latter part having the distinct diction of something being read verbatim from notes. "Do you want me to contact him and ask?"

"No, that's fine," he said. No point in putting her to more work when it could well take the same amount of time to get over there himself. "But if you could send me the address...?"

It was less than thirty seconds before the information filed into the corner of the readout in his helmet, working with the GPS to point the way.

"Thanks," he said, adjusting course. "And again, thank you."


	4. ...But Nothing Changes Much

Mr. Maverick welcomed Sky High with a warm smile and a hearty handshake. Keith took in the office as he was ushered inside, helmet under one arm. Spacious. A nice place. Faint smells of wood polish and tea. He didn't think he'd ever been in here before, but it was definitely classy.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked, making it to the middle of the room then turning back to Mr. Maverick with a smile as the latter shut the door.

“I just wanted to talk with you for a few minutes," he said, walking across the room, not to Keith but to the far wall where a huge window turned the cityscape into a moving picture. "I don't get to speak with you heroes as often as I would like." He hesitated a moment before adding, more quietly, "Also, I have heard there was a video going around that I wanted to ask you about. Something claiming to show you assaulting a man on the street?”

That video again. “Yes, sir. I’ve seen it.”

Mr. Maverick made a noncommittal sound, looking out the window at the neon-painted landscape for a moment before finally asking, “And? Was it you?”

Keith winced. WAS it him? He didn’t remember it. But maybe he _did_ remember it. “...I don’t know,” he said finally, hating the admission. Hating that it might make his statement to Origami Cyclone earlier an unintended lie. Hating all this uncertainty.

“I see. Well, I'll see about finding the source and getting it taken care of, either way. We can't have word of things like that getting around."

Well, this was simple enough. "Thank you, sir," he said. "But I don't think it really matters very much. It doesn't bother me."

"I'm glad to hear it, but it's not your feelings I'm worried about." The words were frank, not cruel, but Keith looked down anyway, embarrassed not to have thought beyond himself. "Do you know how this might reflect on you -- on the association -- if people begin to actually believe it? What would it do to their trust, do you think?"

It sounded like a question, but dealing with the sponsors -- they taught him so much -- had showed him that not all questions were intended to be answered. He got the feeling this was one of those times. Still, he hadn't thought about that aspect. Mr. Maverick did have a point.

Speaking of, Mr. Maverick was still standing by the window, the city's lights partially overpowering the interior lights to outline him in vivid colors. The silence had just stretched to the point Keith was starting to think maybe the question _hadn't_ been rhetorical when Mr. Maverick spoke again, muttering to himself more than continuing the conversation.

"I guess we'll have to do something about this."

"Sir?" Keith asked, unease suddenly crawling up his spine. He meant the video, right? But he'd already said they'd clear that up.

The Hero TV founder turned away from the window, the former welcoming smile replaced with something a lot more serious, more grim. "You seem uncertain if it was you. What do you remember?"

Keith tilted his head, thinking. Nerves made grasping the memories a little more tough. "Well... mostly, I don't remember it, it's just that there's something familiar about the video." He spoke slowly, weighing each statement as he made it. What was he sure of? "And lately I've been remembering, maybe... or maybe imagining? The fire. Being inside the building. Carrying someone. Fire. Fire everywhere."

"You've saved people from fires countless times," Mr. Maverick suggested gently.

"Yes, but it's different." He debated how to explain it. "I didn't have the suit. I wouldn't have been as worried as I feel in... whatever that is. And I feel weak. Scared." He relayed the thought unselfconsciously. "More scared than I remember ever feeling. Inexperienced. Unsure what to do."

"I see. That's too bad."

"Sir?" Keith repeated. It took him a moment to register that he'd rudely taken a step backward, away from the man.

And Mr. Maverick stepped toward him and repeated himself as well, though this time his voice had a line of resignation in it, and a steely tension as well. "I guess we really will have to do something about this."

Keith found himself tamping down an urge to move toward the door, forcing his hands not to curl into frustrated fists. This was just Mr. Maverick. They’d spoken before. He was the soul of Hero TV. Keith -- all the heroes -- owed a lot to this man.

So why were all of the instincts that had kept him alive and safe in fight after fight screaming at him to either attack or _run_?

“Thank you, though,” Mr. Maverick was saying in that same steely tone as he started toward his guest, and Keith bit back an automatic _You’re welcome_. “Practice is important. And you were one of the people who helped me hone my own ability. Learning how far I can stretch it -- or when I’ve pushed it too far.”

Ability? Letting the smile finally fall from his face, Keith said, “Sir? I’m afraid I don’t understand what-” but cut himself off when the other man just kept talking.

“Sky High.” Mr. Maverick said it slowly, as though deliberating the name itself. He stopped a few paces shy of Sky High. “The King of Heroes. You know, at first I really thought you might do it and my other… project… would just be furthering our success. But I think it’s clear that other one will be an even bigger hit. I think people realize on some level that you're a little too... heroic. That there’s something missing, with you.”

Missing? Project? This still wasn’t making sense, but Keith stayed quiet, instead giving the room a closer look. A tactical look. there had been two men outside the door - was it locked? He couldn't tell from here. Mr. Maverick was between himself and the window. Breaking out through the windows would probably… no, _definitely_ be an overreaction though.

Right now, at least.

Still, if his feeling was right, if Mr. Maverick actually tried something…

That man was still talking, clearly interested in a monologue more than a discussion. "But we needed something different, something a little more... pure. We had good-hearted heroes who weren't always willing or able to control themselves. Hell, we couldn't _stop_ Wild Tiger from getting reactive sometimes."

"And I think Wild Tiger is an exceptional hero because of it," Keith put in, half earnest and half just to break Mr. Maverck's momentum. In that video, Mr. Tiger would definitely have stopped that cameraman. It had been the right thing to do, he thought.

Mr. Maverick turned to stare at him thoughtfully at this interruption. Keith tried to smile, but it faded quickly. That stare. It was like he was waiting for something, some realization. Something about the video?

Again, his mind replayed that moment inside the burning building - that memory or imagining where the smoke walled him in, the flames reached and he needed an exit, couldn't find an exit - and that headache again lanced through him. He winced, and when he cracked his eyes open again, Mr. Maverick was still staring, silent and searching. He didn't seem to notice Keith's momentary inattention at least. Or... was that a small smile?

_No. Of course not_ , he chided himself. But still, this was uncomfortable. Why HAD the man called him here?

"Well, anyways, thank you for coming so promptly tonight," Mr. Maverick said, crossing the last few feet between he and Keith with one hand out. Relief at an end to this meeting made smiling easy, as Keith stepped forward to shake the man's hand. "And I look forward to more good service from you."

Keith's polite reply died on his lips as Mr. Maverick's eyes flared a familiar, icy blue.

\-----------

Ivan waved in greeting as he stepped into the gym. "Keith! Hey."

Keith looked up, blinking a couple times to presumably get sweat from his eyes, then smiled his sunny smile and raised one hand. "Hello! And Hello again. How is your day going?"

Ivan jogged over, laptop under his arm. He needed to get started, but he wanted to make sure he remembered to do this. "Hey, that video? Someone posted it again, but it immediately came down. Did someone talk to you? It seems like there's some sort of block on it now. Good thing, too. I wish we could get all of them so easily, and..." he trailed off, noticing the way Keith was studying him. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, but... video?"

"Yeah. From... yesterday?" The look he was getting was so genuinely puzzled that Ivan found himself starting to question whether he'd actually talked to Sky High about it at all.

Keith shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't remember. But if this video no longer being posted is a good thing, then I'm glad, and I'm glad you made sure I knew. Thanks, and again, thank you!"

Ivan hesitated. Anyone else, and he'd be sure they were putting him on - some sort of prank. But this was Sky High... he wasn't sure this guy could DO deception. Still, what did it matter. He guessed Keith had a lot on his mind. So he just smiled back, said "No problem!" and retreated.

It didn't matter after all. Keith was right.

The problem was taken care of, and everything was back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry the last part took this long. I couldn't do the idea justice, but I hope this is acceptable :) This last part just did not want to get written. Thanks to anyone who stuck with this until its end!


End file.
